“Well, sah, she ain’t rightly at home, nohow; but den she am at home, too.”
“How is that, uncle? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“It’s dissaway, sah. She says to me, ‘Uncle Henery’—dat’s my name, sah—‘Uncle Henery,’ she says, ‘if any pusson done ask fo’ me, you tol ’em dat I is not at home, ceptin’ it’s sure-nuff home folks what asks, an’ in dat case you can say dat I is at home.’ Dat’s de way in, sah; right dar. Yo’ jes rap on dat do’ and my ol woman’ll opin it fo’ you.”
Nick stood still until the negro had led the horses toward the stable, and then he mounted the steps of the wide veranda, and rapped with the metal knocker against the door.
There was a long wait before it was opened, and then a negress, as black as the proverbial ace of spades, appeared so suddenly that Nick was startled, for he had not heard her approach. She peered out at him after throwing the door widely ajar.
“Hello, auntie!” he exclaimed. “Can you take in a traveler, and give him something to eat, and a bed for the night?”
“I reckon so. Yassir. Come right in. You is welcome. Dar ain’t nobody home ‘ceptin’ me an’ dat good-for-nothin’ nigger, Henery, but I reckon we can make you comfortable; yassir.”
“Isn’t your mistress at home?” asked Nick, remembering what Henry had said on that point.